


anything for my boy

by stars_in_our_eyes



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Gen, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21546589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_in_our_eyes/pseuds/stars_in_our_eyes
Summary: Cynthia Murphy is struggling with the loss of her son.
Kudos: 7





	anything for my boy

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy my late 2018/early 2019 horseshit. bold is cynthia’s pov.

It had been three days. Cynthia was avoiding my room like the plague. Guess she didn’t want reminders of how badly her son fucked up this time. Me neither. 

I followed her as she scrubbed the dishes by hand— _“We could just use the dishwasher,” I’d say. She’d shake her head. “It teaches the value of doing your own hard work, Connor.”_

Maybe if I’d listened to her a little once in a while, I wouldn’t be here. Tear tracks streaked her cheeks as she silently sobbed, trembling. Cynthia put down the dishes, seeming to debate something in her head. Finally, she nodded to herself in confirmation. 

She stepped shakily up the stairs, and I was right beside her. Was she going to check on Zoe? Not that she needed it, she was probably rejoicing. The monster was dead. Hooray. But instead of turning towards Zoe’s room, she walked to a door with a “Keep Out” sign on it. My room. 

Cynthia picked up some old boxes and slowly swung the door open, stepping inside. Her eyes widened and brimmed with tears again as she spotted something in my closet. She retrieved it, an old sweater I hated. It was way too baggy for me. She smiled sadly and sat on my bed. 

“You never liked this sweater, remember? It was too baggy and too itchy. But I think I’m gonna keep it now, if you don’t mind. It reminds me of you.” She spoke as if she could tell I was there, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Cynthia held her face against the material, as if she were hoping to somehow find a leftover piece of me that she recognized waiting there. She folded it on her lap and tucked it into a box. 

“God, Connor, I—I thought I knew some way I could get through to you, but...” Her voice broke and she trailed off. She tried to blink back her tears, which went terribly. I wanted to tell her desperately that it wasn’t her fault, that she had tried, that it wasn’t her fault I was... 

It didn’t matter what I was, all I was now was a ghost who carried bad memories. I tried to swallow back my tears. I tried to put my hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t notice. Not that that was a surprise. 

“I just thought maybe all the therapists and the doctors and the medicines might...bring you back to who you used to be. Happy. Remember how you used to have a million answers to ‘why did the chicken cross the road?’” Cynthia asked the empty room. I did. Some of them were better than others, admittedly. She blinked rapidly to stop the tears. 

“I thought...I _hoped _that maybe...maybe they could take away that anger in your eyes. I should have done more, I know. I let you down and I’m so—I’m so sorry, Connor,” she whispered shakily. I wished she knew I was here. I wished she knew _it wasn’t her fault. _I wished she knew I was sorry too. I wished I could stop crying. I wrapped my not-there arms around her in a tight hug. I knew she couldn’t tell, but maybe...____

____ _ _

____ _ _

____**Someone’s arms encircled me and buried their head on my shoulder. I glanced at them in surprise. The room was empty. It was him—Connor, my son; Connor, who I couldn’t save—and I held him tighter. He looked up, revealing eyes as raw and bloodshot as mine from tears. He smiled weakly.** _ _ _ _

____**“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fading away in wisps of light. **_“Goodbye,” I whispered back. _**And then the tears came.**__**** _ _ _ _


End file.
